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And here my naked breast within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold;
If that thou need 'st a Roman's, take it forth:
I that denied thee gold will give my heart.
Strike as thou did'st at Cesar; for I know,
When thou dids't hate him worst, thou lovs't him better
Than ever thou lovs’t Cassius.

Brus. Sheath your dagger,
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope,
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again,

Cas. Hath Cassius lived
To be büt mith and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and b!700 ill ic.nper'd vexeth him!

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill tempered too.
Cas. Do you contess sto much? Give me your hand.
Bru. Aid my heart tov.----[Embracing
Cas. O Brutus!.
Bru. What's ihe matter?
Cas. Have you ost love enough to bear with me,
When the rash humour which my mother gave me,
Makes ine forgetful ?

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth, When you are over earnest with your Brutus,

He'i think your mother chides, and leave you so.

II.-SPEECHES AND SOLILOQUIES.
1.-Hamlet's Advice to the Players.--

TRAGEDY OF HAMLET. SPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you ; trippiugly on the torgue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier had spoken my lines.

And do not saw the air too much with your bands; but use all gently : For in the very torrent, iempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the soul, to bear a robusteous, perriwig pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who

(for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. Pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame, neither ; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word 10 the action! with this special observance, that you o'er step not the modesty of nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing ; whose end is to hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy of, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of one of which must, in your allowance o'er weigh a whole theatre of others. Oh! There be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, that, neither having the accent of Christian, nor the gait of Christian, pagan nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journey men had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 11.-Douglas' Account of himself.

TRAGEDY OF DOUGLA3.
My name is Norval.. On the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord ;
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds filed
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil encumber'd foe.

We fought-and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The sherpherds slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summon’d his bold peers,
To lead their warriours to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps-
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
And heaven directed, came this day to do
The happy deed, that giids my humble name.

III. -Douglas' Account of the Hermit.-13.

BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote And inaccessible, by shepherd's trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man, Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains. Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed, Water his drink, his food the shepherd's aims. I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd With rev'rence and with pity. Mild be spake; And, entering on discourse, such stories told, As made me oft revisit his sad cell. For he had been a soldier in his youth ; And fought in famous battles, when the peers Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, Against th' usurping infidel display'd The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire His speech struck from me, the old man would shake His years away, and act his young encounters : Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit lim down, And all the live long day discourse of war. To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf He cut the figures of the marshalld hosts; Describ'd the inotions, and explain'd the use Of the deep column and the lengthen'd line, The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm;

For, all that Saracen or Christian knew

Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
IV.-Sempronius' Speech for War.-TRAG. OF CATO

MY voice is still for war.
Gods! Can a Roman senate long debate,
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death!
No-let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And at the head of our reinaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, Fathers, rise ; ’lis Rome demands your help:
Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or share their fate, The corps of balf her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here deliberating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in servitude ard chains.
Rouse up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle :
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.

V.-Lucius' Speech for Peace.--IB. MY thoughts, I must confess, are turn’d on peace ; Already have our quarrels fill'd the world With widows and with orphans: Scythia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: 'Tis time to sheath the sword, and spare mankind. 'Tis not Cesar, but the gods, my Fathers ! The gods declare against us, and repel Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle (Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair) Were to refute th' awards of Providence, And not to rest in heaven's determination. Already have we shown our love to Rome; Now let us show submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, But free the cominonwealth. When this end fails,

Arms have no further use. Our country's cause,
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands,
And bids us not delight in Roman blood
Unprofitably shed. What men could do,
Is done already. : Heaven and earth will witness,
If Rome must fall that we are innocent.

VI.-Hotspur's Account of the Fop.--HENRY IV.

MY liege I did deny no prisoners. But I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord ; neat; triinly dress'd; Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble land, at harvest home, He was perfum'd like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held A pouncet box, which, ever and anon, He gave his nose. And still be smil'd and talk'd : And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by, He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility, With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf; I then, all smarting with my wounds, being gallid To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd-negligently-I know not what He should or should not; for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, aud drums, and wounds, (heaven save the mark!) And telling me, the sovereign’st thing on earth Was spermaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, (so it was) This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,

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